


the send-off to kuroneko bakery

by bakibaki (mangofree)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Timeskip, fluff but also angst because they are oblivious, i looked up so many recipes, i really like pastries okay, its a happy ending though because i physically cannot write angry or sad ones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28240836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangofree/pseuds/bakibaki
Summary: Kenma visits home during a blisteringly hot summer break between university semesters.Through a whirlwind of unexpected appearances and events, he learns to bake, starts another Youtube channel, and maybe, just maybe, verbalize the feelings for his best friend that he hadn’t even realized until now.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27
Collections: Kuroken Christmas Exchange 2020





	the send-off to kuroneko bakery

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tabfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tabfics/gifts).



> what i’ve learned: idk how to write proper summaries
> 
> so yeah enjoy!! im very sorry i dont have the rest of the chapters atm fsdfhf i originally wrote this as a oneshot and then thought WHAT IF I CONTINUED IT... the rest of them are in draft + im swamped for studying during the holidays,, i’ll do my best to have them all posted before the end of the year! and if i dont, well! they’ll be up before february thats my personal guarantee

The cicadas scream incessantly. A bright haze of sunlight and sweat clouds Kenma’s vision as he stares up in disbelief at a dark storefront:

_For sale._

Kuroneko Bakery? _For sale?_ Kenma squints and rubs at his eyes, just to make sure he isn’t delirious from heatstroke. Frustratingly, the sign remains present. 

Kuro’s grandparents have been running Kuroneko Bakery since the first month they moved to Tokyo. He and Kuro watched it be built—watched Kuro’s grandpa paint the bright red sign himself, grinning a familiarly crooked grin; watched Kuro’s grandma puzzle over recipes and rolling pins while they snuck tidbits of the goods when her back was turned. It’s been a fixture in his life since, well, since Kuro became a fixture in his life. 

A drop of sweat rolls down Kenma’s neck. He half-regrets the decision he made to grow his hair out when he entered university. He half-regrets the decision he made to come home during summer break, where air-conditioners are an absolute necessity yet few and far-between. 

If Kuroneko Bakery is no more, then Kenma has no business here. He certainly has no business standing in the brutal summer sun, deafening himself while surrounded by cicadas loud enough to rival a chorus of jackhammers. Maybe he should double back to the city, where air-conditioning units are distributed at reasonable intervals—

“KENMA!! I CAN EXPLAIN!”

Kenma whirls around; inexplicably, Kuroo Tetsurou, who is supposed to be currently interning at the Japan Volleyball Association, is running toward him at full speed in a three-piece suit, faux-leather shoes clicking wildly against the pavement. Kenma rubs his eyes again. Had he drunk enough water today? Had someone poisoned his toast with a powerful hallucinogenic substance?

Kuro skids to a stop in front of him, panting with his hands on his dress pants wrinkled at the knees. “I was—I had—” He’s breathing too hard to form a coherent sentence, let alone an explanation. His hair, which Kenma thought he’d learned to tame since he’d discovered conditioner, is at once slicked back with sweat and sticking up wildly in gravity-defying places. He’s clutching a briefcase in one hand and a pastry case in the other.

Kenma has so many questions. 

He settles on the most pertinent one. “What are you even doing here?”

Kuro wheezes for a couple more seconds before replying. “I had—a business meeting—in the area. I thought—you might be here,” he gasps. “Jeez, I am not as fit as I used to be in high school.”

Despite this last comment being irrelevant information, a voice in Kenma’s head vehemently disagrees with the statement. The voice supplies that his shoulders are definitely broader, especially when flattered by the suit jacket, and continues to note that the creases on his dress shirt trace the faint definition of muscles underneath. Kenma mentally shoves this voice in a locked drawer and throws away the key. 

“You ran here. In forty degree weather. In a three-piece suit,” Kenma says unaffectedly. 

“Yes.”

“You are… insane.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“So, do I get the explanation?” 

“Wait,” Kuro coughs. “Can I have some water?”

Kenma does not have water. He also does not have the time or patience to have a conversation during which they’re both boiling alive and struggling to be heard over ear-splitting insects. “There’s a little coffee shop around the block, where you can have water.”

“Right.” Kuro straightens up slightly. “Oh yeah, and I brought this.”

He holds up the pastry case in his right hand, smiling slightly as the sun glints gold in his eyes. The overall effect should have been charming, but instead comes off slightly manic considering the disheveled state of his hair and the fact that he’s drenched in sweat. 

Kenma tilts his head at the case as way of acknowledgment, then starts walking. 

Kuro doesn’t say anything on the way there, presumably because his throat is too dry. Kenma enjoys the silence (well, besides the cicadas) while it lasts. Kuro’s posture straightens up gradually as he recovers, filling out the crisp edges of his suit jacket and smoothing the violent creases on his dress pants and vest. 

_Stop that_. Kenma keeps his eyes on the pavement, as he’s done for years while walking by his best friend’s side. If only he’d brought his PSP… it would have been a nostalgic sort of distraction. They’re at the coffee shop in no time, though, and Kenma pushes through the door, Kuro trailing after him. 

The blast of cool air that hits them in the face instantly restores Kenma’s will to live—he can practically feel his metaphorical heart container filling up. 

“Table for two, please,” Kuro says to the waitress, taking his suit jacket off. He catches Kenma’s eye before he can glance away and wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

Kenma elbows him in the gut, producing a satisfying oof. They sit down in coffee-stained lounge seats next to a vintage radio that’s playing old-timey hits. Kuro orders a hot black coffee and asks for plates and silverware. Kenma orders a pink lemonade, because who the hell orders hot black coffee when it’s 40 degrees outside?

“Aw, little child,” Kuro coos when Kenma’s drink arrives. 

“Enjoy your cup of Satan’s diarrhea,” Kenma scowls into his lemonade. 

“…Satan’s what??”

“Ah. Lev called it that once and it’s sort of been stuck as an inside joke ever since…”

Kuro’s eyes shine. “You remembered a joke that Lev made? Even one as bad as, well, that? Aw… my little kitten is growing up.”

The immediate disgust that should come at being addressed as “little kitten” is strangely absent, but Kenma creates an appropriately disgusted expression anyway.

Kuro lets the puppy-eyes linger for a while (they look ridiculous, he’s a tall 23-year old man in a suit), then claps his hands together, suddenly business-like. “So, right, this is why I ran through forty-degree weather in my work clothes.”

Kenma watches as he picks up the pastry case from the seat next to him and sets it on the table. “Go ahead, open it. It’s fresh-baked.”

Kenma opens the case (he does not play the “open chest” jingle from Legend of Zelda in his head) to reveal a beautifully latticed miniature apple pie, golden in the middle and browned at the crust. It smells exactly like the apple pies of his childhood, like the ones he would watch Kuroo’s grandmother make. There may or may not be tears in his eyes.

“Like I said, I thought you might come to the bakery. I didn’t want you to be too disappointed… so I asked my dad to make one from my grandma’s old recipes. I hope it tastes okay.”

Kenma cuts it in half hastily and takes a bite from his piece. 

“Good?”

He gives Kuro a thumbs up, because his mouth is currently too occupied with apple pie to form words. The taste is exactly what he came home for. His struggles have been fulfilled. 

The corners of Kuro’s eyes crinkle as he takes a bite of his own piece. “Mmf, fmh mfhfh,” he says.

“What?”

Kuro swallows. “I said, this is a nice sort of send-off to the bakery.”

“Hm.” Kenma pauses to sip on his lemonade.

Right. So Kuroneko bakery is for sale now. Which means—

“Wait, wait,” Kenma backtracks, “why are you guys selling the bakery?”

“I was waiting for you to ask. My grandparents wanna move down to Kyushu or Okinawa, somewhere warmer. My dad doesn’t really wanna run the business alone, especially when it wasn’t his in the first place, so, it’s for sale.”

“…Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

“A send-off, huh.” Kenma stares forlornly down at his half-eaten piece of pie. “I’ll miss the key lime pies, too.”

“…And the tuna melts.”

“And the chocolate croissants.”

“And the pizza rolls.”

“And the choux puffs.”

“Okay, okay, we should stop, this is just making me sad and hungry,” Kuro sighs into his coffee. “If only I actually knew how to bake from a recipe.”

Kenma’s eyes widen. “You have the recipes??”

“Yeah, I found a few lying around, but even with my dad’s help, they’ve all turned out horribly—”

“How long are you going to be home for?”

“Uh, about a week.”

“Good. We’re making all of the things we just mentioned.”

Kuro raises his eyebrows. “The only things I can cook are grilled fish and rice.”

“I know. Don’t think I haven’t forgotten that time you exploded my microwave.”

“What! That was one time—”

“We’re doing a proper send-off to the bakery,” Kenma says with finality. 

The crackly voice of a bygone singer on the radio fills the contemplative silence. Kenma savors his last bite of apple pie. 

“Wow, I think the last time I saw you so serious about something was when the early copy of Breath of the Wild got released,” Kuro says. 

“…No it wasn’t.”

“Yes it was.”

“No it wasn’t.”

The waitress interrupts them, materializing at their table. “Sorry, today’s an early closing day, this is the last call for orders!”

“I’ll get the check,” Kuro says. He turns to Kenma. “…Yes it was.”

Kenma stands up in response and goes to the cashier, paying the bill in full. He’s got enough wiggle room around expenses, and it was his idea to bring Kuro here, anyway. 

“No it wasn’t,” he calls back. 

“Hey! I was gonna—ugh, never mind,” Kuro says, grabbing his briefcase. He bows at the waitress and catches up in a few long strides. “Wait, were you planning on doing this send-off thing now?”

Kenma shrugs. “We haven’t got ingredients—of course not. You said you’re free for a week, right? We can start tomorrow.” 

“Alright, alright,” Kuro says, opening the door. The sky behind him is cast in the underwhelming orange hues of the Tokyo sunset. “Say, why don’t we call our good old teammates and ask them to help too? I’m sure we could use some extra hands—”

“No,” Kenma says abruptly. 

Kuro cocks his right eyebrow high enough to disappear into his bangs. 

“Uh.” Kenma searches for an excuse, even though he’s not sure exactly why he refused so quickly. “The stuff we make probably won’t turn out very good, so, it might be a bit embarrassing if they get food poisoning… or something.” His voice has trailed off noticeably towards the end; he clears his throat to disguise it.

Kuro steps out, and Kenma follows, wincing at the still-persistent heat. The setting sun is less severe though, and it throws their darkening shadows across the curb. Kuro gives him a long, sideways look. 

“…Are you implying that we’re going to get sick from our own baking?” Thankfully, he takes the excuse’s bait, rather than pressing Kenma’s immediate response.

“I mean, if you’re going to be present, there’s a possibility,” Kenma says. 

“How dare you! Baking is in my genes! It is my divine duty to carry on the legacy of my grandma’s tuna melts.”

“You sound like a JRPG character with a shitty backstory that sends you on ingredient-collecting fetch quests that are disproportionately dangerous for the underwhelming reward.”

“…That was oddly specific.”

“I’m a completionist.”

“I know. I’m subscribed to your channel.” 

“I know. You bought my merch, even though I said I’d send you some.”

“I know. What’s wrong with wanting to support my favorite content creators?”

Kenma doesn’t grace that with a response. He points around the approaching corner in the direction of Kuro’s house. “You can do that by going home and watching my videos.”

“I guess,” Kuro sighs. “It’s been a long day.”

“I’m sure it has.”

It has been for Kenma, too.

“Alright, see you tomorrow, then?” Kuro’s intonation rises in a question, even though it was Kenma’s suggestion in the first place. It’s mildly irritating. 

“Yeah. See you.” Kenma waves at him, then turns around his side of the corner. 

His parents aren’t home; his mom texted him earlier that she and his dad would be out for dinner. He pulls himself up the stairs and into his room, then flops down on his bed. His shirt and hair cling to his skin, but he can’t summon the energy to get in the shower.

It’s just the heat, he tells himself. 

The image of Kuro in his suit (minus the awful hair and pit stains) flashes briefly through Kenma’s mind. The unwelcomed voice-in-locked-drawer in his head gives a thumbs up. 

Just the heat. He drags himself off his bed and into a cold shower. 

**Author's Note:**

> :) next one will be up tomorrow!


End file.
